Present Danger
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Dean has nightmares and jagged thoughts, even at Christmas, especially at Christmas. What feels good to him is weird to others, he pursues it. He's fucking lucky to have Roman and Seth, they're his candles.


_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing._

* * *

><p><strong>PRESENT DANGER<strong>

Dean didn't get people gifts. He'd bought gag stuff before, for himself, for people he'd liked and hadn't liked, for total strangers. It'd been to amuse himself mostly and to see the looks on people's faces. He was never going to be allowed back into that Detroit bar and he really didn't give a crap, it'd been worth it.

Truth was, he couldn't ever remember receiving or unwrapping any decent seasonal gifts himself. It'd never been a big deal to him; there'd always been way more important shit going on.

(The choking smell of antiseptic, the drag of blood on skin and too many fucking holes...)

Fuck. Dean shook his head and peeled his socks off; they only had three tears in altogether. Seth didn't know what he was talking about.

Seth was excited about Christmas, it was hilarious and also did something to Dean's insides which was new and weird, the kind of weird that he liked and that other people got unnerved by. He'd never understood that. Why would he ever want anything else?

Roman had grown up in a large family so Christmas was like normal fun and shit for him. Dean couldn't really grab the sense of that but he liked how it looked on Seth and Roman and he wanted to see more of that. So he watched TV and thought about buying them actual gifts. Maybe some gags too. Dean grinned.

There was a ton of plastic shit that he could buy for Seth and Roman, the kind of stuff that filled stores and TV commercials, he could buy them beer and spirits, well yeah the latter went without saying. Didn't feel totally right though. Dean grimaced irritably and scratched sharp fingers through his hair. What the fuck did he know? Why was he doing this again?

Seth twitched beside him, his head drooping against Dean's shoulder. Roman smiled at them both fondly, his hand smoothing through Seth's hair before tapping against Dean's jaw. Dean went to bite him, he got the edge of Roman's hand and a broader smile from the big guy. That good-weird feeling fluctuated again through Dean's chest, fucking right.

They were both still here, despite Dean's nightmares and the way he sometimes stared in mirrors and how fucking jagged he was. They were still here with him. They didn't make the jagged parts of him any softer but they made them feel good.

Dean got a good gift idea after suffering a weird fever dream. He was sick for a handful of days and was vaguely aware of Seth cursing him out for being so silent and still and Roman keeping him cool with washcloths and updating him on day-to-day shit. His dreams were worse than usual but when the fever broke, Dean remembered seeing warm candle wax behind his eyes, dripping across his knuckles. It was a comforting thought. Candles were good; they warded off all kinds of motherfuckers, they burned, they threw guess-work shadows and they went real well inside hollowed-out pumpkins. Dean liked pumpkins, especially at Christmas. Didn't everybody?

"No," Seth told him, sat next to Dean's knee on the bed, an amused look on his face.

Dean cocked his head, nostalgia curling through his expression "They should."

Seth shook his head and beat several fingers against Dean's thigh like he was checking its density, "Halloween and Thanksgiving are the only pumpkin holidays."

Pumpkin holidays were an awesome idea. So once the Shield had bedded down in a safehouse for the festive season, Dean hit the nearest run of stores, buying several pumpkins and a ton of candles. A lot of them were straggly or stumpy-looking or had been half-melted into crooked shapes. They were awesome. Dean got them from a thrift store, he also found a couple of books in a bargain box. They smelled of onion soup and their spines were spiderweb-cracked but they talked about lanterns and candles and had pictures that looked like his dreams so Dean smeared dollars across the counter-top and pocketed the books as well as the candles.

He'd always been a bloodhound. He got a scent, he didn't let go, especially not with his teeth. He'd dreamed and it hadn't been a nightmare. That was something and he liked the feeling he got when he thought about that candle wax, the burning, like it was good shit. Like the connect of his fist to someone's face, like someone's chest under his foot, like his hands fisting in Roman's hair and Seth kissing his sternum. Like the opposite of his nightmares. Good shit.

Dean read one of the books and sharpened a knife or two. Anticipation was thrumming through him, he smiled and his fingers curled into fists automatically. This was going to be a good night. A few hours and some scorched-smells later, he'd hollowed out a bunch of pumpkins, had started work on a couple of designs and had carved away at a couple of candles, getting them into better shape for burning or just making them look even more badass.

There was that feeling again, that good-weird feeling. Dean hoarded it in his chest and kept turning pages. The candle smell stained his hands and seeped into his sweat, he could taste it wildly on his tongue. What he saw in the mirror sometimes and what he felt during his nightmares, that all felt far away for now. Fuck, yes, keep going.

The candles filled up one shelf, then two. Roman eyed them and Dean.

"There an end of days I need to know about?" he asked, giving the subject the kind of seriousness that made Dean want to kiss him, so he did.

Roman bore his weight easily as Dean scrambled against him, trying to get some really good leverage and pass on the taste. The air smelled like wax and ripe pumpkin. When Roman gentled the kiss and glanced over Dean's shoulder, an eyebrow lifted beautifully.

Dean knew what Roman could see – a couple of half-carved pumpkins, one was shaping up into a flame pattern. Dean's candles was going to look awesome in there. Roman's hands were big and steady at Dean's waist, Dean ground against him filthily just to see Roman's pupils widen and his breath shudder with a curl of a growl that made Dean reach for the fastenings of Roman's pants. Fuck, he was never going to get enough of this, of Roman, built ridiculously like something out of a movie. The good kind that came on late at night.

"What're you making?"

Dean grinned ferocious and triumphant, reaching back to grab a handful of raw pumpkin "Christmas."

* * *

><p>On Christmas Eve, Dean put a pumpkin lantern outside the safehouse's front door. A black candle glowed malevolently from within the lantern. It wasn't some kind of light in the darkness, it was a warning.<p>

Inside, there were lit candles on the lounge's windowsills, on the table too. Another pumpkin was glowing at the top of the stairs. Seth and Roman were sat in the lounge, the TV was on low and there was spiced beer and a lot of leftovers to make up into sandwiches. Dean flopped down beside Seth and started jamming stuff between two buttered slices of bread before taking a huge bite out of his creation - mmm, pulled pork and pickled beets and onions. Just the way he liked it. Seth shook his head and veered away from Dean's breath.

"Forget it, that could kill on impact."

Dean smiled, revealing sandwich chunks. He caught sight of Roman smiling. "You wish."

He drank beer and watched his candles burn down. Seth was warm beside him, looking pretty fucking spectacular by candlight thanks to the way the shadows moved across his bone-structure. Bastard was made for horror movie lighting, Dean had always found Seth fucking compelling anyway but now he was off the fucking chart. Roman curled an arm around Seth to grip Dean, all banked heat and unbelievable godliness. That good weird-feeling was in full fucking flow. They were delicious warnings, the pair of them, candles, until things got snuffed out or until Dean got swallowed whole.

That night, Dean had a nightmare. The images were well-worn and he snarled and fought against them. His pulse thudded hard and he worked hard to draw blood, laughing as he shredded what he saw, a child's murmur and a musty door thudding shut. Someone was beside him and a light flared. He recognized that smell.

He woke up to see a candle burning on the bedside cabinet. Roman's arms were knotted around Dean's waist, like he was trying to stop Dean from hurtling away, and Seth was crouched almost over him, his hair touching Dean's face, his hands pressed to Dean's collarbone.

Dean felt Roman kiss his neck and Seth kiss his mouth. Both touches were questions. Dean's gaze darted around the room – there was the window that didn't shut right, Seth's laundry was piled on the floor near the foot of the bed, a shirt of Dean's hung on the door-handle. Nothing nostalgic or antiseptic.

Dean gripped Seth's hand and Roman's arm. Swallowed up, but not whole, not yet. That good-weird feeling was so close, ripe with a bunch of anticipation as it twisted away. Merry fucking Christmas. Dean snapped his teeth; pumpkin time.

_-the end_


End file.
